How the Hetalia did I end up here?
by havarti2
Summary: When a girl from our world gets thrown into Hetalia, how will she get back? Why did this happen to her? Why is the Awesome Trio hanging from a chandelier by their ankles? Read and find out! (But seriously, why is the Awesome Trio hanging from a chandelier by their ankles?)


"Hey, Amy! Hurry up or we'll be late for class!" I yelled at my friend who was putting on makeup at her locker. Amy cared waaaay too much about her appearance. She was a nice girl, but a little too glitzy and fashionable.

"Skylar Mitchell. You let me finish my mascara or I'll throw you into the pond in the courtyard. Again." Amy threatened. I shuddered. I did not want to be thrown in the pond for the seventh time.

The second bell rang just as Amy put on the final touches of her mascara. "Okay~! I'm done~!" She exclaimed, flipping her hair. I grabbed her hand and forcefully dragged her to class.

"We're late!"

That was the start of the weirdest day of my life.

School ended rather quickly that day, due to a snowstorm that was headed towards our town. After the last bell rang, I went to my locker, entered the combination, and opened the door with a click. I started grabbing random books that I thought I needed and soon enough, my locker was empty. I reached up to grab my jacket, when I realized it wasn't there. I looked down, seeing that I was wearing it. _Silly me,_ I thought, taking my hand out of my locker. I quickly shut the door and ran outside, not wanting my parents asking why I took so long to get home, seeing that I always walk home.

I stepped out the door and a blast of frigid winter air assaulted my face. I stood there a minute, enjoying the feeling. I always loved the winter. And anything cold. I shut the door behind me, not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable with the crispness of the breeze that ruffled the last leaves on the trees.

I turned in the direction of home, towards the busy street. I looked down at my watch. 12:30?! I was going to be late! I quickly turned to the 'shortcut' to my house through the woods. Sure, it was the same distance, but this way I didn't have to stop at all the 'Do not cross' lights.

I sped through the bare trees and spiky, leafless bushes, getting branches in my hair every once in a while. I kept running until I ran into a man. He turned around, his blue eyes staring dumbfoundedly into my own silvery ones. He was dressed in a World War One German soldier's uniform. He had slicked back blond hair. He carried a pack and was holding a ...stick. On his right shoulder, a rifle hung. I bet it was loaded. He stared at me for just a second longer, taking me in, assessing me, before he had his rifle pointed at my face.

"Are you a spy working for the British?" He asked with a heavy German accent, gun still pointed at my face.

I held back a scream. "N-no sir! I-I d-don't l-live i-in B-Britain! P-please d-don't s-shoot m-me!" I yelped in fear.

He lowered his gun ever so slightly, as if thinking, then raised it again. "How do I know you're not lying?" He questioned, looking me dead in the eye.

I gulped. What was I supposed to say now?! I didn't want to die!

"Well?"

"U-um, I g-guess y-you don't know. I know that I was walking home from school and ran into you." I replied, trying to bring up an ounce of courage.

He looked at me blankly. I gulped again, losing my courage. "There are no schools around here. This is a battlefield." He replied bluntly.

I raised an eyebrow. Battlefield? My school was right behind me. How could he not see it? It was huge!

I slowly turned around. Behind me, there was nothing but trees and bushes. I stared at them in shock. They had leaves. It was the middle of December! How could the trees have gotten leaves!?

"You are lying to me, aren't you?" he growled raising the gun up to my head. Not being able to contain my fear any longer, I screamed.

"I'M NOT LYING I SWEAR! PLEASE DON'T SHOOT ME! POR FAVOR! NO ME GUSTA LA MUERTE! PLEASE DON'T SHOOT ME!" I yelled, waving my arms in front of my face, begging not to be shot.

He didn't lower the gun; instead he cocked it and pressed the barrel up to my forehead. I started to cry.

 _Was this really how I was going to die?_


End file.
